


Where Do I Even Start

by Jobes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Angsty Stiles, BAMF!Stiles, Helpless Derek, Human!Derek, Introspection, Kidnapping, M/M, Other supernatural beings, Protective Derek, Slow Burn, character history, loss of power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jobes/pseuds/Jobes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why are you here," Derek breathed out, heavily. His eyes closed momentarily, but reopened to gaze at Stiles. There was a look in his eyes that Stiles alone had unfortunately become all too familiar with. Pain. Fear. Confusion. But there was something else there. And something else missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story I started writing in the hiatus between Seasons 2 and 3. Hope you guys enjoy it :) Been working on this on a different platform but finally got my AO3 invite, so please excuse the splurge of chapters. Spurred on by listening to "Where Do I Even Start" one day by Morgan Taylor Reid and realizing how perfectly angsty it was for Derek. Listen to the song before reading! Or during. Or after. Or whenever. 
> 
> I'm also in the midst of rewriting some parts of early chapters, so don't be surprised if some things read differently :)

 

* * *

_My heart is broken,_

_Somebody fix it…_

* * *

"Funny how things work out, isn't it?" He said, his fingers grasping the hairs on the back of Derek's head and sharply yanking back. The moonlight danced quietly around the two figures posed tensely in the small clearing. 

"What… do you… want…" Derek growled through heavy breaths, wincing as the figure pulled harder, forcing his bare throat to exposure.

"I've been watching you for weeks now, drowning in your own self-loathing and misery, all–" He smirked, crouching down so he could look directly into Derek's eyes, burning like red hot coals. "-alone."

He let go and pushed him to the ground. Glancing across to make sure his victim's hands and feet were still tightly bound, he stood up and began to pace in a slow circle, like a vulture honing in on his prey.

"I mean, normally someone would be coming to your rescue right about now, wouldn't they?"

Silence.

"What, cat got your tongue?" He laughed. "Oh right, they've all left you haven't they. Your  _pack_." He jumped back as a body trembling snarl escaped from Derek, but shook it off quickly.

"Erica… Boyd… Yeah, I watched them leave, heard their little goodbyes right in there." He nodded at the remains of the Hale manor to his left. " _Once you start running, you'll never stop_ , eh?" He chuckled quietly to himself. "Perhaps you should stop projecting yourself onto your little puppies every time you get angry. Oh, and Peter and Isaac? Looks like your uncle has other plans for your little beta. Left about one week ago, and nowhere to be found, huh?"

Derek's entire body was shaking now, his claws twitching, the razor sharp wires slicing deeper into his wrists, a deep thunderous growl about to burst out. The man aimed a swift kick at his head and flipped him onto his back with another shove.

"Let's not even talk about Scott. What was it that he said? Oh right, 'Y _ou're not my Alpha.'_  It's a shame really. I don't think he'll last very long on his own."

" _What... do you want…"_  Derek gasped, his breath shallow and sharp.

He crouched down once again, locking eyes with Derek. He leaned in close.

" _I told you I'd be back, didn't I?"_ He smiled and stood up, hands reaching into the pockets of his overcoat. "Now then, let's get this over with." He pulled out a long silver knife, the blade glowing brightly despite the darkness surrounding them, and, kneeling beside him, gently placed the tip against Derek's skin.

"Hmm, I always wanted to know what would happen if I stuck this in a werewolf."

"Derek?"

Derek's body stilled. The figure closed his eyes and sighed. "Now what?"

"Derek…? What are you doing? What's goin-ohmygod." Stiles yelped, falling backwards as the scene developed before him.

" _Stiles_ ," hissed Derek, struggling to get up. " _Get out of here_."

"Wha-"

"GO!"

"Now, now, wait a minute, he's just in time for the show," the man said, clearly amused. His left hand shot out, clutching Derek's throat and forcing him back to the ground.

"Dere-" But before Stiles could take another step forward, he was blinded by a wave of light as the knife plunged into Derek's chest. A sickening howl filled the air, causing Stiles' heart to skip a couple of beats and the hairs on his neck to shoot up.

Casually, the figure pulled away from Derek, examining the weapon in his hand with a look of utmost curiosity before putting it away. He grinned as Stiles came rushing toward them.

"Looks like someone does care, but… too little, too late." And he was gone.

* * *

Stiles's mind was a frantic, jumbled mess of thoughts, despite the adrenaline and adderall coursing through his veins. He rushed forward and fell beside Derek, whose claws had receded back into his finger tips, whose eyes were strangely human.

"Oh,  _Jesus_ ," Stiles whispered, as he worked to untie Derek's hands and feet, wincing as the wires bore into him. There was no blood, let alone any noticeable wound, where Derek had been stabbed, but it was only a short while before Stiles noticed the rest of his body covered in cuts and bruises. Blood continued to drip from his newly freed hands and wrists.

"Why- why aren't you healing?" Stiles gasped, throwing the wires to the side and bracing himself against Derek's body as he sat up. Derek seemed to ignore him and instead turned to stare, eyes heavy and dazed.

 _This… something's not right,_ Stiles thought, struggling to fully bear Derek's entire upper body weight against his shoulder.

"Why are you here," Derek breathed out, heavily. His eyes closed momentarily, but reopened to gaze at Stiles. There was a look in his eyes that Stiles alone had unfortunately become all too familiar with.  _Pain. Fear. Confusion._  But there was something else there. And something else missing.

"Oh you know, casual midnight stroll trying to recreate my own Rocky Horror Picture Show." He snorted. But this didn't seem to be the time. "I mean, I was-" He stopped, mind blank.

_You know, that's a great question..._

Derek's expression didn't change. He let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes.

_Oh man, he's still bleeding._

Stiles shook his head and regained himself. "And good thing I did. I fuckin' saved your life. Again. Or, at least marginally, since I _did_ see that guy stab you… but… there doesn't seem to be a knife wound anywhere and you would  _think_  that would have left a mark." He was starting to ramble. "Who was he, anyway? All doom and gloom. And that knife? And how-"

"Stiles."

"-did he tie you up like that? Aren't your  _Alpha_  senses on at all times? Oh! And where the hell are Peter and Isaac? Don't they live here no- _god_ ,why aren't you  _healing_?" Stiles breath was running short, his hands trembling. He couldn't figure out what was going on, why Derek was fading so quickly. The blood continued to run and the gashes weren't closing up like usual. He felt sick. And legitimately scared.

_Funny how a couple of months ago I would have paid to see Derek bite the dust. Could go for a little pain and misery these days, just for good measure, but death, not so much._

"Stiles."

"-and what school of witchcraft and wizardry did that guy learn how to  _apparate_  from?" Stiles muttered under his breath as he pulled the flannel shirt off from around himself and frantically started wiping away blood and trying to clean the wounds. "God, you are useless. WHY AREN'T YOU HEALI-"

"STILES," Derek managed to rasp, gripping the younger boy's flailing wrist.

"…WHAT?" He paused, mouth gaping, eyes looking up unfocused.

"Thank-" but the word caught dry in his throat as his vision tunneled to the ground. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There had been no reaction to the sharpness of his voice, no tremble of fear, however slight, and not even an edge of annoyance. His eyes were large and warm, brows curved slightly in understanding, concern, and something else that Derek didn't like, couldn't fully stomach.

 

* * *

_My walls are closing in._

* * *

For a couple of seconds, the possibility that limbo really existed played in his mind before Derek became acutely aware of how  _unaware_  he was.

As if from a far distance, the morning calls of Beacon Hills's resident blue jays danced around his ears. His eyes stared straight up, unable to completely focus on the pattern of glow-in-the-dark stars haphazardly strewn across the ceiling. The soft, cotton material he twisted at his fingertips took a little too long to register. And worst of all, his body ached. He didn't have to look to confirm the long slender cuts that ran along his arms and legs and circled around his wrists.

He felt weak. And empty. Hollow even. Quiet, contained panic began to spread from his core to his fingertips, which suddenly felt like heavy weights, latched uselessly to his body.

His instinctual growl caught harmlessly in the back of his throat and escaped a feeble groan from between his chapped lips.

There was a shuffle of feet and a familiar flailing to his right.

"Thank god, now I don't have to explain to my dad how an ex-convict died in  _my_  bed."

Derek struggled to sit up right, his back and core fighting to remain perpendicular to the ground.

"Where am I," he muttered, trying to wipe the blur out of his eyes.

"Oh come on now, shouldn't you recognize the  _scent_  of this pla-" Stiles stopped short. Derek didn't need to ask.

_That's the problem. The very, very big problem._

"How long," Derek grumbled, swinging his legs gracelessly over the edge of the bed and folding over his knees. His eyes were focused on the floorboard, widening and narrowing.

"You've been out for a good two days buddy."

He looked up sharply, eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Yeah, you've just kind of been lying there. Twitching, more or less every hour or so," Stiles murmured. There was something strange in his voice. "My poor sheets…"

"Stiles," Derek let out a heavy breath, careful to hide the slight quiver behind his voice. "I think that I might have lost my ability to-"

"I know," he interjected. "I've been doing some research, and more or less watching you for the past couple of days-hey, don't you dare give me that look, you're the one who spent an entire year stalking us from afar." Derek averted his stare. Stiles continued with a huff, but his tone remained serious. " _Anyway_ , I was trying to figure out why your body wasn't recovering as per usual and every time I expected you to go all Jekyll and Hyde on me in your mini bouts of subconscious seizures-" he paused. There was a quiet discomfort in his voice. "Nothing happened."

Derek snarled and clenched his fists tight. Panic quickly turned to anger as realization dawned on him. Anger used to be his solace, his anchor, but now it was just another emotion.

 _Human emotion_.

"I think that you might have lost your, you know,  _wolfines-"_

" _I got it,_ " he snapped, glaring at Stiles. Derek shut his eyes and let out a stifled sigh. "Sorry, I-"

He lost track of his thoughts for a brief moment, taking in the image before him for the first time. There were books strewn across the desk, peppered with an array of colored post-it notes all in Stiles's handwriting. The wikipedia page to "Werewolves" was open on his laptop, not that he would have found anything useful there. There were clear signs of sleeplessness at the corners of his eyes that under normal circumstances could have been mistaken for the aftermath of a good joke. But it was his expression that caught Derek most off guard. There had been no reaction to the sharpness of his voice, no tremble of fear, however slight, and not even an edge of annoyance. His eyes were large and warm, brows curved slightly in understanding, concern, and something else that Derek didn't like, couldn't fully stomach.

_Sympathy._

And the hollowness it caused in his chest.

* * *

Steam billowed lazily from behind the shower curtains, water still running hot. Derek stood with his hands flat against the sink, elbows locked, shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of his deep breaths. He cautiously lifted his chin towards the mirror, eyes scanning the lines of his own features. Water dripped carelessly from the bridge of his nose, splashing lightly on the linoleum. With his right hand, he pushed back the hair hanging over his eyes, no longer rigid from his typical trigger-happy gel usage. He bared his teeth, tongue slipping cautiously over his canines which were horribly dull. And no matter how hard he tried channeling any sort of energy behind his eyes, they remained unarguably green, playfully catching the light from above.

He bowed back down in resignation, hair falling strand by strand across his brows. With his eyes closed, he could feel the a droplet of sweat carving down through the contours of his back. His senses were still as heightened as any normal human being could imagine, but paled terribly against his own standard.

 _How could I let this happen_.

His name was Killian, but Derek had always known him as Kyle. He had been buried deep within the crevices of Derek's mind, far below everything else that he suppressed on a daily basis, which to say the least, was a lot.

_That day…_

It had been years. Almost a decade. Derek shook his head, water spraying in every direction. He didn't want to think about it right now. In either case, he knew that his old acquaintance would be back to finish the job.

And in that somewhat gruesome thought was a glimmer of hope. Stiles had reinforced what he had always known as only a rumor about the Shadow Knife. Creatively named, indeed, and filled with too much power. But its usage was reversible. And that was all he needed to hear.

_Crazy how much you can find online these days._

Derek sighed and leaned back against the wall. And then there was Stiles.

Stiles, who Derek still couldn't really figure out, couldn't read like he could the others. Sure, on the outside, he played the dimwitted, comic relief role with such incredible skill, but there was something about Stiles that always left him uneasy whenever they had one of their  _moments_ , eyes locked, one pair usually furious, the other unrelenting.

But he couldn't deny that he owed a lot to the kid. Somehow they always found themselves in a tight bind with only each other to depend on, and within the undertones of their vocal distrust, was an unspoken understanding of one another. Despite everything, he knew he could count on Stiles more than even his own pack. He had certainly proven that in these past couple of months.

_What's even left of my own pack?_

Derek had somehow slipped into this new habit of self-pitying that he shamelessly blamed on his degeneration into pure humanity. The warm, thick air around him was soothing, even in the midst of his crisis. It had taken him quite a while to calm down, and only after repeated promises and empty reassurance from Stiles that they'd figure things out as soon as possible did he relinquish himself to the soreness of his worn body and agree to wash up. His mind swam without direction, unable to really grasp the implications of the past 48 hours. Stiles had tried to explain, but even then…

" _Why did you bring me here?"_

" _What was I supposed to do? Leave you there to die? When you couldn't even take care of yourself?"_

" _I can take care of myself."_

" _Oh okay, mister unconscious-for-two-days. I'm sure you could have fended off those other Alphas who I'm DEFINITELY sure could sniff out your weakne-"_

" _Look,_ _I am NOT weak."_

" _Yeah, okay, fine. Look, this is the only place that I knew you could be safe while your brain flew to la-la land for a short vacation. You're the easiest target any hunter or furry critter could ask for sitting powerlessly in that damn shack."_

" _That's my home you're talking abou-_ _"_

" _Do you really want to DIE in your own home then? Look you have to trust me on th-"_

" _I don't trust-"_

" _-anyone. Yeah, I know. But SERIOUSLY dude, you have to trust me on this. Like I said, I've been watching you these past couple of days-okay, seriously, you have to stop looking at me like that-and when your body wasn't healing after an entire day, I knew something was up. Hell, even Scott healed within a couple of hours from those arrow wounds when he had first turned. So I read through a bunch of books, trying to see if I could find anything on 'losing werewolf abilities.' I had all but given up, and trust me, I spent days pouring over these same texts trying to find a cure for Scott last year, when I came upon this single paragraph about something called the 'Shadow Knife.' The picture here's kind of shitty, but it looks almost identical to what I saw. And if that's true, then looks like you've been sucked dry. And I hate to say it, but I have to believe it, seeing as how your demon eyes and vampires fangs haven't threatened to kill me yet. Not that I'm complaining. At all. Please sit back down..."_

Derek finally decided to turn off the shower and dry off as he continued to playback the conversation in his head.

" _Okay, good, you're nodding like you understand everything that I'm saying, or-wait, you already know all of this don't you."_

" _I had a hunch."_

" _Great. Just... great. Always doing all of this work, all for nothing. What is my life."_

" _Stiles."_

" _What?"_

" _Why are you doing this for me."_

" _I'm beginning to accept my sadomasochistic tendencies and thought, why the hell not."_

" _Stiles…"_

" _What? Look, Derek, believe it or not I_ like _helping people, and I even get a kick out of keeping people alive. Plus…"_

There had been a long pause here.

" _I mean, hey, Scott might think he's got this whole thing figured out right now, but I know that he's still way in over his head. He needs you Derek, and he's my best friend and I'd like to see him alive until at least graduation, which, theoretically, could take a couple more years at this rate…"_

" _So it's just like I said. You need me to stay alive because I'm the only that can protect you."_

" _Wait, what? No,_ Scott _needs you, and I need Scott, so-plus, didn't I get anything through your thick feral head when I dropped your ass in the pool."_

" _You still saved me in the end."_

" _And I've regretted it ever since. Can't you just accept that I-you know what? Nevermind."_

" _Hey."_

" _What now?"_

" _What did you do to my shirt? And my pants?"_

Derek shook his head, his lips twitching at the corners into the possibility of a half smile. The mist was clearing both from within his head and from the air around him.

" _Oh, I burned them and blew away the debris. What? You really want me to risk dad finding out that I'm harboring your fugitive ass? Again. Oh shit, I promise there was nothing symbolic about that method of disposal. I was just kind of freaking out and my mind just doesn't function normally under stress. It was just the blood, and the dirt, and the everything..."_

He wrapped the towel tightly around his waist, and opened the bathroom door, pausing to take note of any additional footsteps that might come from downstairs.

 _"_ What do I do now," he mumbled, making his way back to Stile's room.

It had been quite a while since he was without any sort of forward thinking plan. But, first things first, he thought he'd apologize to Stiles. He never really got around to thanking him. After all, he did save his life.

_Again._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's funny, you know. One day, you're skipping through the woods with your best friend, and the next thing you know, you're underwater. You're reaching up, fingers barely scraping at the surface, expecting someone to grab your arm and pull you out. But then you realize that you've only got yourself, that the only way to get to the surface is by pushing past the boundaries you created to escape from the rest of the world. That, or you drown."

* * *

_Caught in a deep hole,_

_Stuck at the bottom…_

* * *

"You've seen Grease, right?"

"No."

"What? Somewhat surprising, in a not surprising kind of way. At any rate, you know, you'd fit in really well."

No response.

"The copious amount of gel, tight pants, leather jackets, pimped out cars. I'm telling you, a match made in heaven."

Derek grunted and continued flipping through the hangers.

"But really, Derek, how much longer do we need to be here."

"Stiles."

"What?"

"Shut-up."

Stiles gaped at him, mouth hanging slightly open, before shrugging it off and pulling out his cell phone. The two of them had been perusing the leather jacket section of Macy's for a good hour. Derek had not been happy when Stiles delivered the news.

_"Yeah so, we can't go back to your place. Like ever. While you're like this at least."_

_"Why not? All my stuff is there. My car's there."_

_"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news—or rather, wolver of bad news, get it? No, okay—but I went back yesterday while you were still passed out to scope the place out and there were these two guys just sitting on your porch sniffing around. Like I said, I'm guessing the Alpha pack sensed that something was off and came looking. And you really can't go back like this, when you can barely fend for yourself. Thank god I had my jeep."_

_"I can take them."_

_"I'm just going to keep ignoring you from now on. What do you even need to get anyway? You fit fine in my dad's clothes. And I get that my jeep is less than desirable for you, but you guys have been spending more and more quality time together as it is. Can't we all just get along?"_

_"I...I just..."_

Thinking back to it now, Stiles had rarely ever known Derek to stammer, except, of course, for that one time he tried pretending like he could swoon the night watch at the station.

_"You-you-you what Derek? Just spit it out."_

At this point, under normal circumstances, Stiles would probably have run away, given the intensity of Derek's vindictive stare.

" _I need my leather jacket."_

_"Oh, my god."_

So here they were, shopping for leather jackets. Stiles was sure that this was probably part of some hidden complex of Derek's, but chose not to fight it and took what he could get. He needed to get out of the house anyway, since his dad was coming back soon and the two hadn't talked for a while and Stiles wanted to avoid any awkward conversations for as long as he could.

He continued to watch as Derek shifted aggressively through the different jackets, grumbling to himself. Stiles couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something different in the air around them, besides the obvious not-a-werewolf-anymore deal. Even though the two of them had become more or less cordial throughout the past couple of month—saving each other's lives can do wonders—they weren't exactly friends. True, in some messed up way, they always seemed to be watching out for one another, but it's not like they had ever really  _cared_. Not intentionally, at least. It had been, however, a nice change of pace getting some appreciation for once. Derek had even sounded sincere when he thanked him that morning.

 _I just need to keep him alive, for Scott's sake_.

It was the only thing he could think of that made any sense.

* * *

"So I figured we could take a break and do something non-violent and non-threatening for once. It'll be good for your mental health." Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles as they walked out of the shopping mall. "What? I read it in a psychology textbook once. You know, going through different life-stages, losing your identity, whatever. Lots of stress."

Derek rolled his eyes. "My mental health is fine, Stiles. I just need to be ready for Kyle..."

"Kyle? Wait, who's Kyle?" Stiles stopped short as they approached his Jeep.

"I'll explain later," Derek muttered. That seemed to satisfy Stiles enough, who just shrugged and unlocked the doors.

The pair got into the car while Derek carefully brushed the sleeves of his new jacket and adjusted himself in his seat. He cocked his head to get a better look in the rearview mirror, pushing a couple stray strands of hair back into position. Stiles observed him with a curious expression painted very openly across his face.

"You know, you've become increasingly normal ever since this reverse bite thing. It's actually kind of ni-" Derek whipped around to glare at Stiles, eyes narrow.

" _Don't you dare,"_ he menaced.

"I take that back. Still the same," Stiles mumbled, shifting the gear into drive.

The jeep croaked lazily as it turned onto the main road.

"So what do you want to do today? Even if you're not up for the simple act of  _having fun_ , at least let me enjoy part of my summer break. We've got the beach, the fair that's in town, oh and we can totally catch the baseball game, and–oh my god, have you ever been to McDonalds?" Stiles exclaimed, swerving a little out of excitement.

"Stiles. How  _primitive_  do you think I am? That my family was?"

"Well, I don't know, I just assumed you guys did things differently. You know, story time in the woods, chasing cars, etc."

Derek sighed. This was exasperating. Tiring. And not at all relaxing, which, for a second, had actually sounded quite nice. He did, however, somehow find some humor in the entire thing—"some" being the operative word.

"Just drive."

"I need a destination, bud. I'm not going to just waste gas truckin' around town." He was met with another cold stare.

_Well, that's never going to change, is it._

"Fine. Driving it is."

* * *

The sun was starting to set as Stiles pulled to a stop at the edge of the woods on a hill overlooking the city. The waning rays spread like wildfire across the softly rolling clouds, streaking the sky with bands of orange and red as stars began to pop dimly in the distance against the darkening skies.

_Oh Lydia, to have shared this moment with you…_

"Why are we here?" Derek grumbled sleepily. They had driven in silence for the past two hours, Derek having dozed off in the warmth of the sun.

"This is where I used to come just to sit and think when things at home weren't so great. Scott was actually the one who showed me." He didn't mention that they had trapped Jackson here in the patrol van weeks ago during his… darker hours, for a lack of better words. The school year seemed so long ago.

Derek nodded slowly, choosing not to push. But Stiles was in a talking mood. Being back here did something to him. Calmed him down. Made him think. He had also just had two hours left to his own thoughts, and that never ended well.

"Yeah, especially after mom—" He felt strange sharing this with Derek. "—died. I just needed to get out of the house, had to get away from my dad."

Stiles could feel Derek staring. He turned and was a little taken aback at the expression on his face. His eyes were full of intrigue and a touch of sad understanding. And something else—a little spark of warmth that he rarely allowed out. Stiles couldn't help continuing. The dam had been broken. Derek would just have to deal.

"Not that I didn't want to be with him. I just felt—" he swallowed, trying to rid the knot in his throat. "—so guilty. Like, if it wasn't for me, she'd still be alive, she'd still be with us." He couldn't help flashing back to that night at Lydia's when his dad appeared, tearing into him. He knew it hadn't been real, just a hallucination, but to Stiles, there was no difference.

"I would come out here those days and just sit and stare out over the city, out into the sky. I never knew what to do, how to fix it. Instead, my insides—my very soul—would twist into itself and drag me down into some unending spiral of self-pity." He let out a nervous laugh, fingers tapping absentmindedly on the steering wheel.

"Probably developed some sort of complex or something. Issues. I have a lot of them, you see." He smirked. "Kind of like you, but without the perpetual need to hurt or maim." He took the silence as a cue to go on.

"It was just one of those things that I needed to do to keep myself from going insane—protecting people. My friends. My dad. It was the only way I could protect myself, because if I lost anyone else… I don't even know. And then this—" he made a sweeping motion with his arms "—all happened.  _Werewolves_.  _Hunters_. Getting my ass kicked constantly. And I'm useless in all of this. Utterly useless. I mean, the one time I actually  _did_  something… Well, Scott would have died had it not been for you." Stiles couldn't contain the words fighting to escape his throat. He really didn't want to be doing this, feeling so  _naked_  and vulnerable. Especially in front of Derek, who probably could not have cared any less. This wasn't him. This wasn't Stiles.

 _But it is, isn't it,_  he thought quietly to himself.

He turned to look at Derek, who he could see fidgeting uncomfortably out of the corners of his eyes. Or maybe his new jacket was too tight. Or something.

"Sorry. Not trying to fish for sympathy or anything," he muttered. "I know you've got a lot of problems of your own and mine aren't really anything, since, you know, at least no one's  _intentionally_  trying to kill me.  _Yet_. I just don't really have anyone to talk to anymore, and I guess my brain's just been waiting to vomit all over the place."

"You have Scott," Derek said softly, eyes at his lap, averting Stile's gaze. He couldn't help looking up, however, when Stiles scoffed.

"I have Scott," he whispered, more to himself than for anyone else. "I  _had_  Scott. Scott still has me. He always will, and he knows that, and I know that, and everyone around us knows that. But I don't have Scott anymore. Allison—" He could barely contain the bitterness in his voice. "–has him now. But that's okay. It really is." He sat there for a second, lost in thought, before turning back to stare out at the city.

"It's funny, you know. One day, you're skipping through the woods with your best friend, and the next thing you know, you're underwater. You're reaching up, fingers barely scraping at the surface, expecting someone to grab your arm and pull you out. But then you realize that you've only got yourself, that the only way to get to the surface is by pushing past the boundaries you created to escape from the rest of the world. That, or you drown."

Stiles could still feel Derek's eyes on him. It was almost comforting.

"You know what I mean?"

Derek's voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah. I guess I do."

They sat there a while longer in silence, the moon shining palely in the distant sky. Stiles couldn't help but laugh.

"Maybe I'm the one in need of some therapy." 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plus, now with so much spare time and with Stiles's growing ability to probe into his life, Derek was finding himself too often lost in his own thoughts about his family, his past, his guilt, and the emotions they threatened to pry out would only hinder his ability to survive and get his life back.

 

 

* * *

_Trying to reach for help._

* * *

It wasn't easy. Getting used to life as a non-werewolf. Derek hadn't known any other way for nearly two and a half decades, that to ask him to  _chill out_ —as Stiles had unfortunately taken up as a bad habit—was not as simple as it seemed. It was getting to a point where ignorance was easier, and to an extent less humiliating, than shooting Stiles his standard death glares or growling threats, as the element of fear and anxiety seemed to have disappeared along with his claws and fangs. It was quite the living hell trying to navigate this new world and depending on Stiles, of all people, to get through the day.

_Stiles._

Stiles was also slowly becoming the person that Derek had always sensed, ever since their first encounter, was hidden underneath the layers upon layers of jokes and sarcasm. There was a level of depth, intelligence, and  _danger_  within him that, as much as he hated to say it, Derek was beginning to respect. Stiles had quickly bounced back to his normal self after their conversation the other night, but something was different now, and that something was, for better or for worse, here to stay. It would show up in a random comment during a conversation—since, for some reason, they were starting to have a lot of those—or Derek would see it flash briefly in his eyes when they talked about the Alpha pack and what other dangers would be roaming the streets now that Beacon Hills's resident Alpha was down for the count.

That night lent a strange experience, giving Derek a first-hand look into the true depths of Stiles's broken soul. He was confident that even Scott was oblivious to this side of his best friend, knew that Stiles himself would probably have preferred not to have shared what he said with anyone, let alone someone like himself. Yet, he had done so. And for some reason, Derek couldn't stop playing back his words, uncomfortably recalling the trembling pain evident in his voice and the brokenness hidden behind his laughter. What struck him most was the familiarity of everything he said, and how much of it really had made sense. He wasn't lying when he had said so.

_We're more alike than either of us could have ever guessed._

He looked across the table at Stiles who was focused intently on his 99 cent cone. Something about the way he flicked at the tip of the ice cream with his tongue made Derek uncomfortable. He shook his head and sighed, laying his head down.

"What's up sourpuss?"

Derek lifted his head halfway and raised an eyebrow. He had to concentrate a lot on keeping his finger down.

"Nothing." Stiles blinked curiously, but went back to the primary concern in his hands.

_But it's everything._

The two of them were sitting outside of McDonalds, basking in the summer California sun. From any other perspective they were just two dudes hanging out for the summer. No one would have suspected one of them as a brooding ex-werewolf going out of his mind at the sheer prospect of relaxing and doing  _nothing._

Derek had to admit it. The past few days had been fine. Nice even. He hadn't spent so much time just hanging out since his school days. Let alone hanging out with a friend—if you could call the two of them friends. Parts of him were settling into normalcy, until the more conscious side of his mind conjured up images of the Alpha pack, of Kyle, of his own pack members who he hadn't seen for weeks. It was during these moments where  _just having fun_  was just wasting precious time. And another feeling was creeping up his spine that had gone missing for quite a number of years. Derek was homesick. As shitty of a place the now dilapidated Hale manor was, it didn't use to be. He grew up there. He had hundreds of thousands of wonderful memories there. He wanted to go back. For the brief period of time when Isaac and Peter had been hanging around the house with him, they had started putting the pieces back together, cleaning up the place and starting on some repairs. Even werewolves weren't meant to live in such shambles. Plus, now with so much spare time and with Stiles's growing ability to probe into his life, Derek was finding himself too often lost in his own thoughts about his family, his past, his  _guilt_ , and the emotions they threatened to pry out would only hinder his ability to survive and get his life back.

"I need to go back."

Stiles rolled his eyes and tossed the rest of his cone into the trash.

"Do we really have to go over this for the fiftieth time? You. Can't." He said, holding his hands up.

"I. Have. To." Derek snarled through grit teeth. "You don't understand Stiles. I can't keep living like this. I need to get back to see if I can find any clues about where Kyle went off to and figure out what the Alpha pack is up—"

"Look! There you go again about this Kyle guy. Are you ever going to explain anything to me? I would have done some more research, you know, if I thought I wouldn't be wasting all my time finding out things that you already know. And once again, you can't take on—"

"I know, I know," he interrupted. The two of them had gotten very used to cutting each other off. All the time. "I can't fight the Alpha pack right now, trust me, I understand. But I need to know what they're planning, and I need to get my abilities back, and I can't keep sitting around doing nothing." Derek's voice was beginning to rise, but quickly dropped to a whisper. "I have to do something…"

"Why do you always have to be doing something?" Stiles exclaimed, hands coming down heavily on the table. "God, what is it with you  _stupid_  werewolves?" Derek couldn't help but wince at the sharpness in his tone. Under normal circumstances, he would have liked to punch Stiles in the face. But there were no such things as normal circumstances anymore. "First it was Scott who always had to be running off, saving the world, when he couldn't even take care of himself. And now you. I mean—"

"You  _don't_  understand Stiles. I need to be able to protect my pack." Even though his Betas were all but gone, they were still  _pack_  and Derek would protect them to the end if he found them in danger. In the back of his head, he knew that they still needed him just as much as he needed them. "Do you even know what it's like being so helpless when everything around you is—" He stopped, his words caught dangling at the tip of his tongue. Stiles eyes were wide. There was a mixture of anger, exasperation, and  _hurt_  that struck Derek painfully in the pit of his stomach.

"As a matter of fact, Derek, I d—"

"I know, I'm sorry," he said quickly. It wasn't like he had completely forgotten what Stiles had told him.  In fact, it didn't seem like he would ever forget.

It was hard to continue looking him in the eyes, but they relaxed a little after a short pause.

"It's okay," Stiles mumbled, dropping his gaze to the ground. His shoulders hung in resignation. "I know that this is something you need to do, but it's just… I just wish…"

"What?"

He sighed and looked up. There was something tender in his expression that Derek had only seen once before. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

Derek's mouth was strangely dry. He nodded expressionlessly. They stood there in silence for a couple of seconds before Stiles broke eye contact and started towards the parking lot.

"I'll drive."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles couldn't help but interrupt again. "You're kidding me right? Demons? Ghosts? ANGELS? These things exist?"
> 
> "Your best friend's a werewolf and you're driving me around in your car. You really have to ask these questions?" Derek asked, rolling his eyes.

* * *

_Slow the clock that's ticking loud_

_I feel that time is running out..._

* * *

_I just don't want you to get hurt?_

Stiles gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he sped down the highway towards the forest.

_Why would you even say that?_

He was just as surprised as Derek had looked when those words slipped past his lips. He had beelined straight for his jeep the moment his mind had snapped back to reality. Driving was really the only thing that could clear his head, though their current destination was slightly less than sub-optimal. Nonetheless, he had to get behind the wheel somehow.

"As if you actually cared..." he muttered.

"What?"

_Oh shit._

"Nothing," he grimaced. But Derek just nodded and continued to stare out the windshield. From the corner of his eyes, Stiles could see that Derek also appeared deep in thought.

Unfortunately, the Hale house was a good half an hour away, giving the two of them ample time to sit in an uncomfortable silence. That, and spend too much time lost in their own thoughts. Stiles wasn't sure which one was worse.

It was true. Stiles more or less didn't want Derek to get hurt, just like he never wanted anyone to get hurt, but the response had come way too naturally. Had it been to anyone else, he probably wouldn't have thought twice. In fact, he would have gladly offered it up as a valid excuse for keeping the ones he cared about out of harm's way. It really shouldn't have been that big of a deal, but he was extremely bothered by it. Furthermore, the past few days had become increasingly uncomfortable for a reason he could not put his finger on. Perhaps they were spending too much time together given their history of threats and violence, but something inside of him was twisting in all sorts of unsettling directions.

 _You're just getting sick of him._ _Especially all of his moping and inability to cope with life. Yeah, the brooding's getting a little out of hand. Granted..._

Derek's life was pretty rough, this was indisputable. But Stiles couldn't stand all of the angst that just radiated from every loaded one-word answer he gave, or his heavy steps always trailing a couple of seconds behind. Stiles just wanted to slap it out of him. He was growing bolder with his own methods of intimidation, now that the danger of having his throat ripped out was subdued, but Derek was still very prone to throwing him into heavy, immobile objects. His fingers absentmindedly floated over the fresh bruises along his left shoulder.

_Should probably lay off the wolf jokes. You know, ultra-sensitive topic and all now._

But still, there was a part of Stiles that just wanted to help Derek, to ease the pain a little. The thought itself surprised him, and one too many times he tried to drown it out with a million other excuses as to why he was "taking care" of Derek. But then, even those excuses confused him. Derek had nowhere else to go. Derek had no one else to depend on. Or maybe he did, and he was just choosing not to. That confused Stiles the most. Then again, he did spend a lot of time trying to convince Derek that staying with him was the safest decision, which in the grand scheme of things, was not very convincing at all given his propensity for getting way in over his head in every way, shape, and form possible. None of this made any sense. And he hadn't really had to think about it until now. It didn't seem so awkward and strange until today, and now it was just the weirdest thing ever. And he  _really_ didn't want to be reminded about how he spilled his entire soul to the soulless ex-werewolf last week. Although, it had actually been incredibly cathartic and... dare he say it... quite the bonding experience for the two of them. Some part of him just knew that things between them were a little different now. Which is exactly why he had spent the past couple of days preoccupying his time and mind with a million activities that he tried desperately to convince Derek was fun.

_Seriously. What is my life even? What. Is. It._

For once, he really could have used Scott's help. But a week ago, he had a received a less than ideal text.

_going to alaska. mom's idea. i think we're bonding._

He hadn't even gotten a chance to tell him about Derek's dilemma and everything else that was going on. He sure as hell wasn't going to talk to Lydia or Jackson for the next hundred years, but even then, they were off doing their own thing, trying to recover from the rough patches in their relationship this year.

 _Understatement of the century_ , he thought, musing over the events in the warehouse not too long ago.

Allison and her dad... well, probably would have been the best people to turn to given the new imminent threat of  _many_ dangerous werewolves in the vicinity, but he quite honestly just didn't want to deal with the Argents right now. He had no doubt that Mr. Argent would somehow find out about these changing dynamics in the supernatural world on his own time anyway.

So that left him alone to deal with Derek.

 _Alone_...

Truthfully, that was the only real explanation for why he had wandered through the woods that night in the first place - boredom and the feeling of utter loneliness that had crept into his life as soon as school ended. Derek's life always promised to be anything other than boring, and plus, he needed something to preoccupy his mind or else... 

_Oh my god. What is going on._

Stiles let out an impressive sigh, hanging his head as the car continued to drone along. However, he quickly snapped his neck back up as an important thought crossed his mind.

"Hey Derek."

No response.

"Derek."

"Huh, what?" He startled, eyes snapping away from the trees blurring past the window.

Stiles couldn't help but smile. The old Derek was never startled. Ever.

"What's so funny," he asked, eyebrows creasing back into familiarity.

"No, nothing, your face is just-" Unsure of where he was going with this, he decided to switch gears, "-about to tell me who this Kyle is finally."

Derek's expression changed at the mention of Kyle, eyes widening slightly. He bit his bottom lip, closed his eyes and sighed.

"Okay."

And Stiles momentarily forgot about everything else.

* * *

"I met him in 7th grade," Derek began slowly. "He introduced himself as Kyle, though I later found out that his birth name was Killian. Just Killian. No last name or anything." He paused to take a long breath. Story time.

"We became close friends fast. I was somewhat of a loner during those days," Derek ignored the  _oh, I wouldn't have guessed_  look Stiles shot him instinctively. "And he was new, so we bonded. He didn't seem to make any other friends. Just me. Which was fine, because we got along really well, but there became a point when my... parents..." He swallowed. "When my parents thought it was getting a bit much. We seemed to be getting too close. They didn't want him finding out about us, about who we were,  _what_ we were. I was never allowed to have friends over in case anyone in the family-" He paused again. Stiles tried to keep his eyes on the road, but couldn't help but glance constantly over at Derek. Recalling anything involving his family must have been hard.

 _You're a jerk,_ Stiles thought to himself, thinking back to his earlier mental attack on Derek's perpetual aura of doom.

Derek coughed lightly, clearing his throat, eyes settling forward in determination, never wavering to look over at Stiles.

"They just wanted our secret to be kept exactly that. A  _secret_. But Kyle always insisted on coming over and turning him down became harder and harder. I ran out of excuses and eventually started avoiding him, which was unfortunate since having a real friend had been nice, but there was no other way. My family's safety was more important and I was beginning to sense that Kyle knew more than he was letting on, and that I knew much, much less about him than he did about me. As the year went on, I often found him studying me from afar. Stalking, almost. He had stopped talking to me. Stopped being my friend. But he was always there. Watching."

Chills ran up Stiles's spine. You would think that he was used to people stalking and watching from afar - case in point Derek Hale - but this just seemed weird. Derek was also a surprisingly good story-teller, because before long, Stiles felt like he was there, however many years ago, watching young Derek Hale and Kyle interact.

"I started doing some research on my own, searching through the collection of books, articles, and whatever I could find in my parents' library. My family had been studying the supernatural for years, and our collection was impressive. It's a shame that we lost most of it in the fire." He turned to look at Stiles. A strange glint flashed very briefly across his eyes. "You would have enjoyed it."

Stiles's pulse unintentionally quickened. Derek was right. He would have loved it.

"At any rate," he continued, "I didn't know what I was looking for for the longest time. Until I saw a picture that looked strangely familiar. It was a symbol that looked like a pentagram cut in half that I remembered seeing tattooed on his neck. He usually wore scarves to cover it up, even when it was hot out." Derek shrugged. "Probably should have noticed something off about that sooner."

Stiles was nodding, heart still not having settled completely, but deeply intrigued nonetheless.

"Turns out he was a Shadower. I had heard tales of such beings when I was young, but only in the form of campfire stories when Peter wanted to scare us. It all seemed too horrible to be true. These creatures fed off the life force of supernatural beings. They had these artifacts that could literally drain anyone of any type of otherworldly energy or power."

Stiles gasped in understanding. "The knife..." Derek nodded in agreement and continued.

"Doing so made them stronger. Gave them knowledge. And kept them alive. But the texts had said that they only hunted demons, ghosts, angels even, but never shapeshifters. We were too human, too much like the people they tried to pass themselves off as to blend into everyday life."

Stiles couldn't help but interrupt again. "You're kidding me right? Demons? Ghosts? ANGELS? These things exist?"

"Your best friend's a werewolf and you're driving  _me_ around in your car. You really have to ask these questions?" Derek asked, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but- I mean..." Stiles was stumped. Derek had an excellent point. "Very well then, continue..." He would have to think about this later. And do some reading. A  _lot_ of reading.

"There's a lot more to it, but I'll spare you the unnecessary details." Stiles was not happy. All details should always be necessary. "What you need to know is that Kyle was different. He was a stray that had left his own clan, to find something new to chase. I'm pretty sure he could sense the power I had within me, and it was something he had never felt before, and needed to have. Plus, he was still young, and didn't know what he was getting himself into. One day, I found him standing outside of my house, but it was no longer the kid that I used to know. His eyes were entirely black, his expression manic, and in his hands he held the knife." Derek closed his eyes, obviously replaying the events in his head.

"As soon as I walked out of the house to tell him to leave, he started rushing towards me, with more speed than I had seen in a non-werewolf for a long time. But he stood no chance." Derek gave a sad smile, looking down in his lap. "He could never have expected five other fully developed werewolves to appear instantly at my side, throwing him hard against the ground, ten pairs of claws dancing dangerously toward his throat. And then I walked up to him, for some reason still cautious. But all he said was  _I'll be back_ -" Stiles tried his hardest not to break out his best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression because now was definitely not the time. "-and vanished. Just like that. And I hadn't seen him since, well, you know the rest."

Derek looked somber. But it was different this time. There was no angst, no brooding, no self-loathing evident in his expression. Just a quiet, still, sadness that Stiles had never seen before.

The car rolled to a stop at the entrance to the woods. The two of them sat side by side, staring off past the trees into the setting sun.

"Probably should have done this earlier," Stiles mumbled.

"Yeah. Probably."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stay here."
> 
> "What?" He protested, flailing silently. He immediately dropped to a whisper. "As if you currently have any more of a chance of not getting mauled..."

 

* * *

_And all that's left to do is let it wind down…_

* * *

They were being painfully obvious, given Stiles's inability to tread lightly through the brush. Derek had given up five minutes in. Random hikers walking through the trails weren't anything out of the ordinary. If the Alpha pack was to notice them, it would be by their scent, and there was little they could do about that at this point. Not that he had given it much thought at all. Come to think of it, he hadn't thought about what would happen once they arrived at the house either. Unwanted feelings of doubt began to prick at his neck.

_Maybe Stiles is right… this might not be the time._

The idea that Stiles was making better life choices  _for_  Derek was hard to stomach. He should have been planning during the drive, but his mind had been preoccupied with other things, beyond "story time with Stiles". While there had been a constant magnetic pull towards the old manor gripping at his insides, the more practical and calculating side of his brain was beginning to backtrack. He needed to get to the house. He needed to find Kyle. He needed his life back. This was all true. But, flexing his fingers, Derek realized that he had no contingency plan though he was always harping on his Betas, and Stiles even, to be prepared for anything.

"Stiles…" he reached out uselessly and grabbed at the air between them.

Stiles turned to look over his shoulder. His right hand gripped a makeshift walking stick that he had picked up near the edge of the woods. He tapped the forest ground with the tip of the branch absentmindedly as he waited for Derek to reach him. There was a strange glint in his eyes that betrayed the smile on his lips. Or perhaps reinforced. It didn't last long.

"What? Don't tell me you're backing out now. I just spent a good minute convincing myself that we needed to do this. _You_  just spent an entire car ride convincing me why this is important."

He paused, staring pointedly. Derek let out a sharp breath and nodded.

_Here we go, then._

Derek could see Stiles's shoulders visibly tense up as they approached the clearing right outside his home. He set a firm hand on the boy and felt his body relax at his touch. He took in their surroundings, trying hard to focus in on any sounds his ears could pick up, any smells that would tip him off. It was still hard adjusting to the dullness that was his senses now.

"I don't think anyone's here…" Stiles mumbled. "Or at least, they aren't lounging around like they were last time…"

Derek still couldn't believe that Stiles had come out here on his own, when he already knew that the Alpha pack was roaming. All for Derek's sake. He shook his head. They'd have to talk about it later.

"We'll see…"

Something about being back on home turf, seeing something that was  _his_ , gave him an unwarranted sense of boldness and purpose. He strode deftly towards the front door with Stiles scrambling to keep up at his side. He really had no plan. Absolutely none. They were most definitely screwed if anyone was indeed waiting for them inside. He paused right outside the door, taking another look around. Even with his dulled senses, he was almost positive that they were alone out here. Inside the house could be a different story. He turned and shoved Stiles lightly back.

"Stay here."

"What?" He protested, flailing silently. He immediately dropped to a whisper. " _As if you currently have any more of a chance of_   _not getting mauled_."

" _Stay. Here."_ Derek growled. Stiles looked unimpressed, but he turned, crossing his arms, and looked out back into the woods. The sun was mostly set, but it still wouldn't be entirely too dark outside for another half an hour or so.

Turning back towards the door, he took a deep breath and pushed the handle down. The door creaked open, and as he stepped inside, an unnatural hush seemed to fall around him. Everything looked exactly the same. Then again, it had only been two weeks. The painting Isaac had tried to hang in the foyer hung crookedly to the side, dangling from a badly placed nail. The carpet they had found lying unscathed in the attic was still furled up in the corner, waiting to be placed. They still hadn't gotten to installing overhead lights, the primitive oil lantern sitting as evidence at the bottom of the staircase. He took a couple of steps in, reaching down to grab the lantern. He searched the small table drawer next to the stairs for a match. With the oil lit, the room took on a soft golden glow, and for a second, everything seemed okay. Normal and familiar. His house remained untampered with, it seemed. Derek wasn't all too surprised, and even though Stiles had told him of the Alphas waiting at the house, he knew werewolves and knew that, hostile or not, an Alpha's dwelling would be respected. He was almost sure that no one had even attempted to enter. Which wouldn't have been difficult, given his propensity to keep the doors unlocked. He would have to rethink that in the near future.

The Alphas would be back, probably having gotten bored of waiting. But to be honest, they had always been the least of his concern. Werewolves, he could deal with. Powerless or not, he knew werewolf politics, knew that he could prevent any immediate warfare or violence from taking place if it had come down to it. Kyle was another story. Derek had wanted to come both to regain at least a part of his life back and, additionally, to find a way to track down the thief who had stolen something  _very_ personal from him. Running into him could have gone terribly bad, though, especially with both Stiles and himself utterly defenseless. For the most part, it was safer this way. Derek still didn't know what his plan would have been, which was something he couldn't quite get over. Something was obviously very wrong with his brain now. Too irrational. Too blinded. Too human.

He ran up the stairs and into his empty room. It would have seemed strange to anyone else that he missed this place, with the burned walls, broken windows, ashen smell. True, he was working on repairs, but even in this state, the memories were irreplaceable. Sometimes late at night, he would imagine the scrambling of heavy feet running up the stairs, his younger cousins racing to the top, their laughter ringing warmly through the hallways. Or even during the day, when he could almost smell his mother's famous key lime pie cooling in the open window, he would follow the phantom scent to the kitchen and stand there for a while, temporarily basking in the nostalgia. These moments never made him sad, surprisingly. He always knew that they were simply figments of his overactive imagination, but they comforted him. He didn't have to feel so alone.

Derek's eyes stung at the corners as the emptiness enveloped him. He could feel the onslaught of guilt coming, and mentally pushed it back down. Now was not the time.

"Stiles," Derek called out from the top of the stairs, once he was sure that the house was empty. "Stiles. Get in here." The front door was still slightly ajar.

No response.

 _Shit_.

"Stiles?" He shuffled quickly down the steps, yanking the front door open. He jumped out onto the porch, whipping his head from side to side. An unfamiliar grip of fear began climbing up his spine. "STILES," he called again, his voice amplified from between his open palms.

"God damnit, leave the kid out here for a second…" He muttered, running out into the clearing.

_Technically your fault…_

He tried to push the thought out of his head, but knew it was true. He felt his heart thumping loudly against his chest, in what he could now correctly identify as helplessness. It was a terrible feeling.

 _Damnit_.

Standing as still as possible, Derek closed his eyes and opened his ears to the sounds of the night, trying to zero in on the familiar heartbeat or breath. Nothing. His throat burned trying to subdue a frustrated growl as he ran back toward the house, searching for any signs that could point him in the right direction.

No footsteps, no evidence of any sort of struggle. The only thing that caught his eye was the thick, sturdy branch cast haphazardly against the frame of the house.

_Stiles, where are you?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But actually, who the fuck names these things? Like, Shadow Knife, really? Couldn’t be a little more creative, or less misleading? Like, I don’t know, the Glowing Stick of Doom? Knife of Supernatural Suckage?” He snorted. “Suckage.”

* * *

   _Where do I even start?_  


* * *

He probably should have been panicking. Most definitely should have been trying to plan an escape. Perhaps even a little bit of kicking and screaming would have been appropriate. But Stiles decided to take this time, after waking up tied to a cold metal chair in the middle of an empty room, save a small desk in the corner, to thoughtfully consider his life and where his choices had led him. 

The whole kidnapping thing was, for the most part, just anotherbump in his day. It wasn’t completely unexpected. The level of normalcy that existed for the past week or so, specifically when he lost himself in the joys of summer fun and didn’t think about anything real, was awesome, but just didn’t make sense when Derek Hale, Alpha werewolf (read: ex-werewolf) of Beacon Hills, was involved. So it was good to see that the world was still just as weird and twisted as he expected.

_And somehow I find that comforting._

He thought for a moment on the matter.

_You, Stiles Stilinski, are a piece of work._

He sighed, fidgeting purposelessly against the bindings. There was a problem this time, though. The only person that could possible come rescue him was currently inept.

_Why do you always let yourself get dragged into these things?_

* * *

When he was five, a kid in the playground had pushed him hard into the sandbox, kicked sand into his shorts. He remembered the time vividly, the entire class of kindergartners pointing and laughing like some scene out of a horrible coming of age Fox Family production. He didn't cry, or retaliate, or do anything really. He just questioned seriously why someone would do that to him. 

Through middle school he spent most of his time alone. He was one of those kids whose body never quite caught up to his face until much later. His large round eyes were alien on his tiny frame and the other kids would not hesitate to point this out. It didn't help that even back then, Stiles was a talker. He would babble on and on about things that none of his classmates ever cared about. Weird things mostly - aliens, ghosts, the most recent documentary on the History Channel.  It drove people away. But still, growing up, his mother constantly lavished him with feelings of pride and self-worth, so much that these things never actually bothered him. This was who he was and he didn't have much of an issue with that. He just never understood why the other kids didn't see him the way his mom did. 

He met Scott in 6th grade at the beginning of middle school. He immediately recognized him as the kid who pushed him into the sandbox, but Scott never seemed to realize. 

 _Still saving that for the wedding speech_. 

They somehow got along famously, one outcast to another. When the other kids found out that Scott's dad had left him, they decided that it was best to do the same. That's really how Scott's sad puppy-dog eyes developed. Years and years of practice. Stiles, on the other hand, always chose the more optimistic path less traveled. They balanced each other out that way. 

Despite everything, for most of his life, Stiles only saw the half-full side of the cup. There was too much fun and joy to be had to let anything get him down. He was a believer in the good of humanity, and thus, the world. Things would always work out for the best, a fact he had convinced himself of early on. His mom had been the greatest proponent of this, and he in turn would use it on Scott, every instance of "co _me on Scott, he didn't mean it, don't worry"_  reinforcing the truth of it in his head. 

His mom was a beacon of light, of love, and of a heady warmth that had enveloped Stiles like a warm, woolen blanket. He always saw such sincerity in her every action and couldn't believe that anything so beautiful could have existed in a world that didn't reflect the same. She doted on him and his father with fervor, and smiled so brightly in times of distress and turmoil, that Stiles was convinced that she was an angel sent from above and, seriously, how lucky was he to have her? He loved her to the point that even if he sometimes felt lonely at school, the prospect of going back home would always erase any sense of unease or discomfort. She was the mom at every play, at every sporting event, that would shout for her son at the top of her lungs, even as he tripped over his own two feet trying to kick the soccer ball that had rolled to a stop right in front of him.  

So when his proverbial world came crashing down, it came down hard. 

Even now, he could smell the sterile walls of the hospital room wafting over his mother's bed, see the hundreds of tubes that ran in and out of her body, and feel the slowing pulse of the heart monitor ringing through his body. 

_Her tired eyes traced the edges of his face, her arm coming up to brush her knuckles across his tear-stained cheeks._

_“Stiles, stop crying, it’s unattractive,” she whispered with a smile._

_He looked up for a brief second before burying his head in the sheets. He was seated awkwardly next to her, having pulled the doctor’s chair around to her bedside._

_“I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m-” He sniffed loudly, wiping his sleeves across his face._

_“Stiles, do we have to go over this again? You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who-”_

_“No, stop,” he interrupted. “Stop. It’s my fault. I-I shouldn’t have-” For once, he couldn’t find the words that he needed her to hear._

_“Stiles,” she set her warm golden eyes on her son. He was trembling now, unable to hold her gaze without the stinging, the blurriness, the hurt. “I-“ Her face suddenly contorted in pain as her hand involuntarily flew to her chest. Her pulse quickened and the beat of the monitor sounded like a siren in his ears. The doors behind him flew open and he was quickly shoved to the side as the doctor and nurses crowded around his mother._

_“Mom!” He yelled as one the nurse turned and gripped his shoulders, softly pushing him backwards._

_“I’m sorry darling, but you need to leave right now.”_

_He resisted violently for a second before locking eyes with the woman lying before him. A sad stillness seized his body as a single tear rolled down his mother’s cheek. He was pulled back in a tight embrace by his father, who whispered incoherently into his ears. And in that moment, the hopeless reality of the world he lived in became the truth that he had resisted for so long._

And still, it threatened to pull him under, to stifle his breaths if he spent too much time alone and lost in himself, so that the talking, the studying, the pining after unattainable crushes, and now, the persistent threat of supernatural death, were the only things keeping him preoccupied, alive. He needed the distraction. He sought it out.  

 _Oh right. That's why._  

* * *

Still deep in thought, he didn’t notice the figure that had quietly crept into the room, sitting down at the desk across from him. He startled when the other being cleared his throat. Stiles would have to commend Derek for a story well told later. Kyle looked exactly as he had imagined in his mind.

“Stiles.”

“Kyle.” He nodded cordially. The other man smirked and crossed his legs, leaning back into his chair.

“So this has been an interesting turn of events.” He lulled.

"Quite.” Stiles wasn't quite sure what to expect. The man before him didn’t look any older than himself. In fact, he was still more of a boy than a man if anything. His hair fell in a calculated swoop across his forehead, his eyes bright with intrigue.

“Most beings die, you know. After being stabbed. Some disappear. Some burst into flames. One fellow just – poof –” He made an exploding motion with his hands, “ – into dust. “ He turned away from Stiles then and started fiddling with his hands.

“But no, Derek’s a little different isn’t he.”

Stiles snorted.  

“I mean, I’ve always known, about his family. About werewolves. But they were forbidden. Strictly kept out of our reaches. We were told early on not to mess with werewolves. Something about our powers not having the same effect on them. Too tied to humankind apparently. Too much would be…” he peered curiously over at Stiles, “…left behind. But I couldn’t leave it alone. I was young at the time, but that draw of power, it sat viciously in my head for years, growing like an unwanted parasite. Plus, retribution is always exciting, no?” He stood up slowly, stretching his back and yawning.

_Is this guy for real? Like, seriously? Was he just taking a nap?_

“Anyway, I get it now,” he said, blinking his eyes rapidly. “Too much risk in being chased. My parents aren’t too happy. They,” Kyle actually grimaced at this, “-hadn’t exactly reacted as I thought they would when I told them.”

Stiles gaped. He couldn’t help himself. He started laughing, his body vibrating tightly against the ropes.

“Oh, my god. Don’t tell me. I bet this is totally one of those ‘Son Seeking Redemption’ tropes.  Like, _I must regain the honor of my family,”_ he chuckled. Because seriously, this is what his life had become. “All because of _Derek,_ of all people.” He hiccupped.

_I’m going crazy._

 Kyle raised an eyebrow at the laughing boy. “Look, this is serious, they’ve _banished_ me from th-” At this, Stiles started laughing even harder.

“This is totally not real life right now. How incredibly predictable.” He snickered, a crazy grin plastered across his face.

_How the HELL did this guy get the best of Derek?_

For a second, Kyle looked like a frustrated child being teased by the older boys, his brows furrowed deeply inward, hands clenching at his sides. It was comical, really. Stiles couldn’t even find it within himself to feel threatened. But, suddenly, he relaxed, unclenching his fists and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were no longer bright and human, and in a blink, he had his hands at Stiles’s throat, a talon like nail tracing a thin line under his chin.

_Oh._

 His heart rate jumped as his head was forced to an upward angle.  His eyes darted involuntarily around the room, searching for something, anything, out of instinct. A soft glimmer from the right caught the corner of his eye. Arching his back away from Kyle, who was staring at the red trace of his finger with the calm expression of a seasoned serial killer, he caught a better glimpse of what it was. A muted gasp escaped him, throwing Kyle out of his reverie, his own eyes tracing Stiles’s line of sight. He smiled in understanding.

“I see you’ve found my little toy. It’s a beauty, isn’t it? The Sha-”

“-dow Knife, yeah I know.” Stiles huffed, now that Kyle had taken a couple of steps back and no longer looked possessed. He stopped to catch his breath, but since his mouth really just ran on its own in these type of situations, “ _But actually_ , who the fuck names these things? Like,  _Shadow Knife_ , really? Couldn’t be a little more creative, or less misleading? Like, I don’t know, the  _Glowing Stick of Doom? Knife of Supernatural Suckage?”_ He snorted. “Suckage.”

Kyle let out a hallow laugh, clearly amused, and walked over to pick up the tool.

“You are an interesting one, Stiles Stilinksi.” It didn’t even bother him that he knew his last name. Typical creepy creature of the night behavior. 

Stiles sighed, briefly closing his eyes. The intensity of the situation was just bouncing back and forth way too quickly. His heart couldn’t handle it.

 _Well, might as well get on with it_.

“What do you want with me, dude?” 

Kyle glanced back over at Stiles, smoothly sliding the knife in his coat pocket.

“Now, now, don’t be so conceited,” he said with a smirk. And with a little wave goodbye, he was gone.

“Oh. Damn.” 

 

 


End file.
